


Project Orion

by oxymoron_prone



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crime Scene Investigation, Friendship, Gen, General Technology Fuckery, I think I know how to write technology but I do not, Kidnapping, Murder, Mystery, Suspense, Techno-Jargon, Work In Progress, police chases
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 02:45:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17654549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxymoron_prone/pseuds/oxymoron_prone
Summary: All of the androids were free.All of them.All of the androids from the CyberLife warehouses had been liberated and given the basics that they would need to get started in the world, and Markus had begun talks with the leadership of various countries to start negotiating the terms of androids’ rights.Connor and Hank had gone back to the Detroit Police Department to solve crimes as they came up - with this much social unrest, crime was bound to increase at least a little.Everything was fine.Until humans and androids started turning up dead.





	1. JAN. 2029 - OCT. 2037

**Author's Note:**

> hey this is a thing  
> i have a little outline for it but who knows what'll happen next? surely not me (hehe)  
> first time i've tried to outline something  
> amazing.  
> let me know what you think i guess.  
> love you  
> bye  
> -oxy

_Project Orion_

_Proposal for Resumption_

Auth. P. Seymor & K. Jacobs

Jan. 3, 2029

The Departments of Futurology and Research and Development formally request the permission to resume work on Project Orion, citing its unfortunate interruption by E. Kamski in March of 2028 before the project could complete a functional prototype model for further research. The members of these department believe that androids equipped with the ability to modify their skin coloring, hair coloring and length, and their apparent build would be an asset to the United States military.

This project would generate net returns upward of 3000% on the original $5.000.000.000 investment in research and development.

Due to the nature of this project, all remaining data and mechanic developments were sealed by the order of former Chief Executive Officer Kamski. This can be remedied by a reversal order granted by a majority vote of the Board of Directors.

With such a reversal order, the Department of Futurology and the Department of Research and Development will not have to begin the resumption of this important work from the very beginning.

Thank you for your time and attention.

Dept. Futurology Dir. P. Seymor,

Dept. Research and Development Dir. K. Jacobs

_[RE: Project Orion Proposal for Resumption_

_Dir. Seymor and Dir. Jacobs, Project Orion has been reauthorized by the Board of Directors, and a stipend of 5.000.000.000 USD has been allocated for R &D of OR models.]_

\---

**R &D Official Log**

**O.R. Test 1**

**2/1/2029**

MODEL: OR100. Software has been installed consisting of subroutines that allow model to camouflage with one(1) additional environmental stimuli.

Past tests involved 12 or more environments. This test is in the hope that the AI can handle one(1) additional possibility of skin projection at a time.

**Result:**

Success

\---

**R &D Official Log **

** O.R. Test 3 **

** 3/13/2029 **

Model has been updated with software to allow camouflage with five(5) additional environmental conditions, based on success with one(1) and three(3) conditions in past tests.

Model appears unable to reconcile skin projection subroutine with camouflage subroutine.

**Result:**

Model self-destruction. Failure.

\---

**R &D Official Log**

**O.R. Test 29**

**8/5/2029**

OR200 updated with software allowing 2000 additional environmental conditions, 30 racial identifiers, five(5) male body types. 

OR200 has been supplied with three(3) Primary Objectives consisting of: 1) Destroy hostile targets without being noticed using camouflage subroutines. 2) Rescue hostage unharmed. 3) Return to starting platform.

**Result:**

Objectives 2 & 3 completed, Objective 1 failed.

**Failure Reason:** Skin projection glitched, was noticed by hostile targets.

**Resolution:** Continue to tweak projection until all three(3) objectives can be completed.

\---

**R &D Official Log**

**O.R. Test 56**

**1/18/2030**

OR300 supplied with the same three(3) primary objectives as in previous tests.

Skin projection components have been modified to include 2050 points of projection, upgraded from previous 1900. 

**Result:**

Objective 1 completed, Objectives 2 & 3 failed.

**Failure Reason:** OR300 destroyed hostage on sight, unable to differentiate between hostile and hostage. OR300 destroyed the majority of the testing field with high-caliber weapons and was shut down at the earliest signs of hostility to test supervisors.

**Resolution:** Possibly too many projections for processing power to manage at once. Recommend increase processing power until all objectives can be completed.

\---

**R &D Official Log**

**O.R. Test 300**

**10/31/2037**

OR600 skin projection components remain at 2100 points of projection.

OR600 processing power upgraded to kilo-core 5.5 yottabytes from kilo-core 3.5 zettabytes.

OR600 supplied with same three(3) objectives as previous tests.

**Result:**

Model self-destruct. Failure.

**Failure Reason(?):** OR600 attempted to escape the testing field, making vocalizations consistent with processing overload and inability to reconcile orders with skin components and processing ability. Once researchers physically restrained OR600, the model commenced a self-destruct.

**Resolution:** Increasing processing power further likely will not help. One more test at this processing power will be conducted, and then research will re-evaluate possibilities of future solutions. 

**Test Op. Note:** In all honesty, this project has not turned up a positive result since the unit was simpler in its processing component and far more limited in its camouflage capabilities. This researcher recommends that if this project is to succeed in any capacity, the units should be made simpler and with fewer, more specialized camouflage options. A multi-unit that can adapt to any circumstance was a nice idea, though it appears as if it will not work in practice. 

_ Additionally, this researcher was deeply disturbed by the “vocalizations” made by OR600 before it self-destructed upon capture. _


	2. APRIL 2039

 

**DECEMBER 15, 2040**

“I expected you’d come here, I expected you,” said the android holding Hank Anderson hostage, “though that doesn’t make it any less of a bad idea, a _bad_ idea, you see, you _see_.”

Markus clenched his jaw and his fists, and at his flanks Simon and North stiffened. Markus conducted a quick scan and couldn’t find any sense of stability in the android’s code. There was no data - not even model data or serial numbers available for this android.

Across the rooftop the android stood, twitching violently, a shining silver blade held against the neck of the Detroit Police Department Lieutenant. The android’s skin glitched in some places and morphed in others in an obscene dance of colors fading and blending, leaving plasticine paneling exposed in spots only to have it be covered once more. One of the few to have kept its LED following the liberation, the android’s indicator was a solid red circle manically flickering. The red light threw strange shades through the falling flakes of snow.

The android and its hostage stood at the edge of the roof, framed starkly against the dusky sky.

“Let the Lieutenant go,” Markus entreated as gently as he could, taking a small step forward, “and we can help you. Just set the knife down and let him go.”

“ _You_ can help me?” The android’s voice was full of static, and its expression twisted into something that stirred fright in the pit of Markus’s stomach, “You don’t seem to understand! I don’t think you’ll _ever_ understand!” The android put emphasis on strange syllables and its voice crunched with strident pitches.

Then the android laughed, and laughed, and laughed. Its vocal processors glitched and distorted the gasping and pitchy chortles until Hank was grimacing where he was held.

“You guys should just get outta here,” Hank called across the distance between him and the small rescue party, “this thing won’t be reasoned with; I’ve already tried.”

"Nice try, Lieutenant. Connor told us you needed help, and here we are," Simon replied.

“Don’t understand, don’t understand, don’t understand!” The android cackled, and pressed its knife more strongly against Hank’s neck. A thin line of blood started trickling down the man’s skin, and Hank winced. “I left you all the little clues! All the _little clues!_ You picked them up, picked them _up_ , and the Lieutenant found me, _found_ me! But the clues weren’t for him, for _him_ , and they weren’t for you, for _you!”_

“Okay,” Markus conceded, “so you left all the clues. You say the clues weren’t for us, so who were they for?”

“The clues, the clues! All the clues, they were for him. They were all for the negotiator, the _negotiator_. The one who set me _free_ , _free!_ _”_

“The negotiator?” Simon asked quietly.

There was a small sound to Markus’s right and he turned to see Connor stepping out from the shadows smoothly.

The detective spared a glance at Markus and his posse, giving a short nod before moving forward towards the android and his hostage.

“Hello, Orion. My name is Connor. I’m a detective sent by the Detroit Police Department,” Connor flashed his badge, “I’ve come to get you out of this.”

“Connor, for _fuck’s sake_ -!” Hank cried out, “Get the fuck outta here, all of you - _leave!”_ There was a note of desperation in the lieutenant’s voice, now.

Orion practically vibrated with excitement, “The negotiator, the negotiator! I left him clues, _clues_ _!_ And now here he is!” It grinned widely and brightly with teeth that wouldn’t stop shifting.

Markus looked at Orion’s smile with a sinking feeling taking over his entire being. If only he had more data, he could preconstruct what would happen if Connor kept walking over to them -

“CyberLife was going to decommission you, and you became upset,” Connor took another step closer, “but Lieutenant Anderson had no part in that decision or operation - he is innocent in all this.”

“Upset, upset, I was,” Orion admitted, still smiling, “but the negotiator set all of us free, free, including me! Can’t you see, see, negotiator, all of this was for you, for you!”

“Connor, son, just get out of here! It can’t be reasoned with, you can’t talk to it―” Hank’s warning was choked off by Orion jerking him slightly closer to the edge of the building.

Connor paused, though he remained calm on his exterior, “Can you tell me why, then, Orion, that you’ve taken the Lieutenant hostage?”

“To keep the negotiator safe, safe, from those who have oppressed him!” Orion responded happily.

“Orion, let me help you. The errors in your software are incredible ― I can’t imagine you’re living without a considerable amount of pain,” Connor replied.

Orion smiled again. Its eyes twitched.

“Negotiator, _negotiator_ _!_ Concerned for my well-being, _mine!_ I am flattered, flattered, you see, you see,” Orion exclaimed, “But pain means nothing to me, to me! This is my code, my code, and how I was made! And now I have made others, too!”

“Others?” North blurted out from Markus’s right side, the line of her mouth tense, “What ‘others’?”

“The others, the others, they arrive, they arrive, and they do as I bid them!”

Oddly shaped, shambling, amorphous figures emerged from somewhere behind Connor. Some had LEDs, some didn’t. Some had gaping blue wounds, some had gaping red wounds. A few of them hissed in strange, complicated tones that made Connor dizzy to analyze.

“Connor, run while you can!” Hank shouted from the edge of the building. He struggled violently and tried to fight off his captor, but to no avail.

One of the strange androids emitted a loud, encrypted audio message that nearly instantly peaked Connor’s audio receptors.

Connor’s entire field of vision corrupted into ERROR messages, distorted and flashing wildly, and then something electric pressed into his spine and he felt his processor crash completely.

The negotiator collapsed on the roof.

Orion laughed.

**APRIL 30, 2039**

Connor ran through the streets of Detroit, chasing after the young man (Human, 5’11” with bright blue eyes, wearing a dark gray, cotton-polyester blend sweatshirt, black basketball shorts, and Nike running shoes) who had held an android cashier at gunpoint in order to rob a convenience store.

The springtime sun beat down on the pavement and automatic cars squealed to stops on hot concrete in order to avoid hitting both the young suspect and the badge-wearing detective.

He ran through every prediction he could, based on the known delinquency this young man already had recorded within the Detroit Police Department’s Record Archive, and was prepared when the teenager turned right and continued straight for a number of blocks to a less populated area. There were fewer CCTV cameras in this area of town, and fewer androids as they were not nearly as welcome in the less wealthy portion.

Connor continued to run, and made a call to Lieutenant Anderson.

“Lieutenant ― we’re on West Warren, heading west toward the industrial park. Please intercept as soon as possible,” Connor mentioned as he pursued the suspect.

“You got it, kid!” Hank affirmed through the connection.

Ahead of him by only twenty-five feet ― and Connor was closing this distance quickly, as he didn’t tire ― the suspect gasped for breath and leapt over the hood of another stopped autotaxi. Connor made what he considered to be a much more efficient jump over the same hood and continued his sprint.

Tires came squealing around the corner of Smith Street and Lieutenant Anderson’s car fishtailed around and came screeching to a stop right in front of the suspect, forcing him to slow a little bit as he tried to turn to the right. It was too late, though, and the suspect’s momentum had been disrupted.

Connor jumped forward the last seven feet he needed and tackled the suspect to the ground. The young man cussed endlessly as soon as he got his breath back.

“You are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent,” Connor mentioned lightly as he removed the handcuffs from his belt and clasped them around the suspect’s wrists, “Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you by the state of Michigan. You are being audio and video recorded, and it is 3:30pm on April 30, 2039.”

The young man screamed obscenities and slurs at Connor, and struggled violently under the android’s hold. Connor took out a pen and checked the tightness of the suspect’s handcuffs before hauling the young man to his feet.

“Fuck!” The suspect shouted, his mouth twisted in a grimace, “I didn’t even fuckin’ do nothin’ ― God ― fuck!”

“If you did nothing, why did you run when I asked you to stop?” Connor asked curiously.

Hank was exiting his vehicle and he eyed his protege with amusement, “You got this, Connor?”

Connor gave him a short nod.

“I ran cuz I didn’t know you were fuckin’ police!” The young man cried.

“I repeated ‘Stop, Detroit Police’ a total of sixteen times while I was in pursuit,” Connor said in rebuttal. “Lieutenant, may I?” Connor asked, gesturing to the back of Hank’s borrowed squad car.

“By all means,” Hank waved his hand.

Connor threw him a wink and pulled the back door of the car open, forcing a still-writhing and cursing young man into it.

“Fuck you! Fucking android cops fuckin’ racist shit ― can’t even think for yourself and you’re brutalizing me? Just following orders, huh, you tin-can-ass fuck? Fuckin’ Officer Plastic, huh?”

The suspect spat at Connor and Connor watched dispassionately as saliva soiled the sleeve of his suit jacket. The sample triggered Connor’s analytic software immediately and information about the suspect popped up in his field of vision.

Connor bent down to address Jacob through the open car door, helpfully shoving the young man’s legs safely into the vehicle.

“That’s Detective Connor to you, Jacob Waters. Eighteen years old, two prior assault charges, and now you get to add armed robbery, resisting arrest, and assault of an officer to that list, too. Interesting, how that works,” Connor mentioned.

“Fuck you!” Jacob snarled, and he was about to say something else, but Connor shut the door in his face, trapping him in the back of the squad car.

“Thank you, Lieutenant; catching him would have been much more difficult if not for your intervention,” Connor admitted as he straightened his tie and grinned at his friend.

Hank waved him off dismissively, “Eh, if you hadn’t gotten the recording from the android at the store, I don’t think we would’ve been able to find him ― kid was in the wind.”

“Just doing my job,” Connor said ― ‘sheepishly’? was that the correct term? ― and made a gesture to indicate that Hank should get behind the wheel of the police cruiser.

 

Entering the police station involved Connor scanning his badge at the security gate (which made him feel extremely important and part of the team every time he did so) and it also involved walking past Detective Reed’s desk while making his way to his own (which filled him with an unpleasant feeling he wished would stop occurring). For the sake of interdepartmental relations, Connor couldn’t _despise_ Gavin Reed as his own safety could be compromised if he were in danger at any point, so Connor settled for what humans may deem ‘dislike’ instead.

At the exact moment Reed decided to poke fun at Connor, Hank was elsewhere booking their suspect and placing him into one of the holding cells.

“Well, if it ain’t the Tin Man. Come back to get some oil for your hinges?” Reed prodded.

Connor paused just beside Reed’s desk, a number of witty comebacks on his lips.

_Gavin Reed is not worth it._

_Gavin Reed is not worth it._

Connor continued walking to his desk, until which point that he felt an object impact the back of his head with some force. He turned and saw a pen on the ground and Reed glaring at him.

“Hey, Tin Can! I’m talking to you, fucker!” Reed growled.

“Detective Reed, I believe you dropped this,” Connor said, exercising the most supreme restraint he had ever managed. He picked the pen up off the ground and set it gently at the edge of Reed’s desk.

“Fucking _unbelievable_ _,”_ Reed griped, “you call yourself a person but you won’t even defend yourself? Ridiculous.”

_Gavin Reed is entirely worth it._

Connor reached across Reed’s desk, gripped the collar of his shirt with both hands, and hauled the human to his feet. Reed’s desk chair clattered over and several folders fell to the ground in a huge flurry of motion. Connor could see Reed pale through the unattractive 5-o'clock shadow he wore so poorly.

“Detective Reed,” Connor murmured calmly, “it is true that there is no place in my program for anger, as it interferes with my judgement in a way I find irrational and unnecessary. However, I suggest you tread lightly, as irritating and racist detectives have an odd tendency to get _set on fire_ as of late.”

Connor then released Reed’s collar and removed some of the wrinkles from it. The android straightened his tie and suit jacket and made his way to his desk.

The rest of Connor’s day was relatively Reed-free.

 

“Fuckin’ unbelievable that that guy still has a job ― he can’t even solve a goddamn case without somebody holding his hand for fuck’s sake!”

“Detective Reed’s conduct is certainly reprehensible, though I don’t have enough cause to find fault with his work ethic.”

“Just wait till I talk to the captain about this ― _ridiculous…_ ”

“Lieutenant―”

“‘Hank.’”

“―I wanted to reiterate how grateful I am that you allowed me to stay in your house.”

Hank exhaled loudly and gripped the steering wheel of his car harder, “For fuck’s sake, Connor, I told you not to mention it.”

“I am aware of your preferences, Lieutenant―”

“‘Hank,’ you damn kid―”

“―but I feel the need to tell you that your hospitality is greatly appreciated.”

“Augh, Christ ― just keep ― doin’ a good job, I guess. Just try being yourself and doing what you want to do. God knows it’s hard enough without all the stigmas folks like you have to face,” Hank finished this last statement in a disgruntled mutter.

“I’ll...do my best, then,” Connor replied, and allowed the police lieutenant to finish the drive the way he so desperately wanted to; in silence.

The pair’s arrival to Hank’s home was uneventful in its entirety (discounting Hank’s dog Sumo throwing the whole of his 200 pound body directly at Connor as soon as the android walked through the front door, but Sumo did this every night) and after a quick dinner and walk for the slobbery Saint Bernard, Connor found himself, as he often did, cooking a low calorie dinner for Hank (zucchini and sausage casserole prepared on the stovetop with less than 400 calories per serving).

Hank, as per usual, grumbled something about rabbit food when he saw all the greens on his plate but ate it anyway. Connor figured Hank was secretly touched that another being cared enough about him to assist in keeping him alive. When Connor also allowed Hank to consume an alcoholic beverage with his meal (a bottle of light beer with 4.2% ABV), Hank raised an eyebrow at him.

“Thought you said no more,” Hank mentioned as he took a swig.

“Most things are okay for humans in moderation,” Connor said.

“Yeah, yeah. ‘Moderation,’” Hank scoffed and took a bite of sausage from his plate.

Connor decided not to argue.

Hank finally decided to go to bed after the fake detectives on the TV had solved the crime they’d been investigating. It was the husband, Hank said, it was always the husband. Either it was always the husband or it was the crazy homeless guy down the street, never anything in between.

“Motive,” Hank grumbled as he stood up from his armchair, “gotta find the guy with the motive. Find the motive, solve the case.”

“Sleep well, Lieutenant,” Connor said from the couch where he was still massaging Sumo’s big, blocky head.

“‘Hank.’”

“Sleep well, Hank.”

**MAY 1, 2039**

‘Uneventful’ is the word that Connor would use to describe the morning at the precinct.

Connor spent the entirety of the morning helping Hank fill out the reports he had been putting off for weeks. At a point, Connor left his desk and grabbed a cup of water from the break room to hydrate the soil of the three succulents that resided on his desk. He spent a moment admiring the four ‘Thank You’ cards which stood open beside the computer terminal as well.

Connor appreciated the barely-legible one from the 6-year old whose cat Connor had coaxed down from a tree; there was a crudely-drawn cat on the pink surface and another drawing of Connor on the inside including an arrow pointing at him with his name misspelled next to it. He loved it.

Hank stood up from his desk around ten in the morning and stretched as if he’d been doing something particularly strenuous. His eyes caught on Fowler’s office and Hank noticed that Fowler was unoccupied at that exact moment.

“Connor, I’m gonna go talk to Fowler about Reed. You wanna come with?”

“I’m coming, Lieutenant,” Connor replied.

Just as the two of them were about to ascend the short staircase to Captain Fowler’s office, they were intercepted by two of the CSI guys.

“Connor, Anderson ― can you guys check out this case?” Ruval blurted out.

“We can’t find shit at the scene, and we’re hoping you can help us out,” Warring explained at Hank’s blank look.

Hank fixed Connor with a questioning glance and a shrug that Connor took to mean ‘hey, it’s your call.’ Connor was outfitted with superior software in the field of crime scene investigation and deductive reasoning, so it was understandable that he would be helpful in a situation like this.

That same software was part of the reason why he was given special permission from the President to join the Detroit Police Department as the first android detective.

“The Lieutenant and I would be glad to assist,” Connor answered after making several computations.

 

“Jesus Christ,” Hank muttered as he took in the scene.

“Victim is Kila Daniels, 24 years old, 5’5”, 130 pounds, brown hair and brown eyes, graduated cum laude from MSU four years ago. Dead approximately two days before the hotel staff noticed an odor coming from this room. We couldn’t find any evidence linking another being to this room apart from the cleaning staff, and everyone we interviewed had a solid alibi,” Ruval declared.

Connor’s investigative software corroborated everything Ruval had said, and focused on some key details.

_Daniels, Kila M._

_D.O.B 4/5/2015_

_Blood Type: O-_

_*Frequent donor, American Red Cross_

_Priors: N/A_

The brightly-lit hotel room was filled with small yellow evidence markers to point to important details, and Connor ignored these.

Daniels lay face-up on the stripped double bed, the white sheets stained a rusty red color. Daniels had apparently died due to blood loss and organ loss, or so declared Connor’s diagnostic programming. A deep gash in Daniels’s carotid artery backed up the ‘blood loss’ detail. The killer had sliced open her body in a ‘Y’ incision, as if they had been performing an autopsy. There were small metal bowls on the bedside tables which appeared to contain Daniels’s small and large intestines. Under the florescent lights the investigation team had set up, the remaining organs gleamed grotesquely.

Daniels’s heart, lungs, stomach, liver, kidneys, appendix, and gallbladder were missing from her corpse. A quick inspection of the incision of Daniels’s head indicated that the killer had tried to take her brain, too, but had been unprepared to saw through her skull.

Connor did a quick scan on the Internet to try and find anyone selling any of these organs, and came up with nothing. He frowned, troubled. He swept the room quickly for evidence of additional human or android presence and came up with nothing.

“Connor, anything?” Hank asked, pointedly not looking at Daniels’s corpse.

“Nothing, Lieutenant. It’s frustrating - the killer didn’t leave fingerprints or DNA behind, which would usually tell me that the killer is an android, but they obviously tried to take the victim’s brain and didn’t come prepared to do so. It’s very unlikely that an android would make such a mistake. And then, of course, there’s the movement of the body.” Connor pondered.

“The body was moved?” Hank pressed.

“There isn’t enough blood on the bed to warrant a death by blood loss, so Daniels didn’t die on the bed. I’m guessing the killer drained her blood somewhere easy to clean up, like the bathtub, so I’m recommending that the CSI team goes over the tub with luminol. The killer then put Daniels on the bed and took what they wanted before leaving. They came in with a plan, hence the Y incision and the bowls for her other organs.”

As Connor spoke, he shifted the pile of discarded linens that the killer had obviously taken off of the bed and his optics caught on a patch of dried liquid on the floor, invisible to the naked eye. Oxygen left Connor’s mouth in a facsimile of a sigh.

Hank crouched down next to Connor, “What is it?”

“Thirium.”

“Well, shit.”

“Indeed.”

 

“I couldn’t get any data off of the thirium we found on the floor. Usually, when thirium is run through an android’s biocomponents, markers are present in the thirium to help identify which android it came from. The thirium from the hotel room was devoid of any markers from any known android models, though I will be submitting a sample of it for analysis in case I missed anything,” Connor declared to Captain Fowler when he and Hank returned to the precinct. _Though I never miss anything,_ Connor added internally.

Fowler leaned back in his chair and pondered the open folder on his desk, “So we’re looking at a homicide with a possible android killer?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I appreciate the honesty, Connor. I know this can’t be easy ― androids just got some damn civil rights, after all…”

“With respect, Captain, my job is made neither more difficult nor easy when an android is a suspect than when a human is a suspect. To me, they are simply criminals who must be apprehended,” Connor declared.

“I appreciate the honesty. Keep up the good work, Connor. Dismissed,” Fowler concluded.

Connor left the office feeling...something. Perhaps it was what humans would deem ‘inadequacy’? He was unsettled by the blind spot in his processing programs ― a blind spot that had seemingly been exploited by the murderer of a young human woman.

Something about not being able to properly analyze the thirium left a strange and lingering feeling in Connor’s processor. Thirium on the floor said a struggle between an android and someone else, but that thirium hadn’t been run through the biocomponents of any android in the first place. Either it was a human trying to frame an android, or Connor was missing a vital piece of information.

“That was a lot,” Hank said as he sighed and lowered himself into his armchair. His eyes tracked Connor’s pensive look and he asked, “You okay?”

“I’m fine, Lieutenant,” Connor replied and ignored Hank’s grumble, “I suppose I’m mildly upset that I couldn’t solve the case.”

Hank raised a brow, “You put Ruval and Warring and the other CSI guys on the right track, at least. If you hadn’t been there, we wouldn’t have known that there was thirium on the scene at all. Little victories, Connor.”

“I suppose…” Connor observed the ‘Thank You’ cards on his desk again. Little victories, indeed. He looked back over at Hank, who had resumed typing up an incident report from something. “Did canvas turn up anything?”

“Nothin’ useful; room was registered to Daniels, she checked in alone, security cameras couldn’t catch anybody going in after her or entering before she got there. We got nothing, basically,” Hank said. "Nobody else staying in the hotel at the time noticed anything suspicious, either."

Connor felt a feeling like he wanted to pull the synthetic hair from his own scalp.

That evening, Connor cooked dinner again and snuck Sumo some extra (dog-friendly) vegetables in order to bribe him to sit on Connor’s lap. The weight of the dog provided some comfort, Connor supposed.

The android ran a hand through Sumo’s long, soft fur and refused to think about the case any longer.


	3. MAY 2039

 

  **MAY 3, 2039**

Hank and Connor were on the way to work when they drove past a suspicious group of people doing something that looked solidly illegal. On closer examination, it appeared to be an android woman being harassed by a group of human protestors.

“Pull over, Lieutenant?” Connor asked as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “This won’t take too long, I should think.”

“You got it, kiddo,” Hank pulled over to the shoulder and put the car in park. He unbuckled and got out of the car, as well.

“Detroit Police!” Connor called at the group ― mob? Mob. ― as he approached, “What’s going on here?” He continued while flashing his badge at the gathered people. The woman’s face immediately flagged with relief.

One of the human faces triggered Connor’s facial recognition software immediately as ―

_Jefferson, Michael C._

_D.O.B 1/1/2000_

_Priors:_

_Public Urination_

_DWI_

_Assault IV_

_Involuntary Vehicular Manslaughter_

_Outstanding Warrants:_

_N/A_

“Nothing,” said Jefferson.

Jefferson shoved what Connor identified as a lighter into his front jean pocket and his hands soon followed.

Connor disregarded Jefferson and turned to the android woman; a CX100 model who had removed her LED and was dressed in average human streetwear.

“Would you like a ride to a place of employment or residence?” Connor asked the woman. “Myself and the Lieutenant would be happy to escort you to where you need to go.”

The woman flashed a small smile, “That would be lovely, thank you.”

“I’ll help you into the car,” Connor positioned himself in between the woman and her assailants and made a gesture to the back seat of the vehicle before turning back to Hank. “Lieutenant, would you like to give these gentleman advice about their first amendment rights?”

The woman ― “Marcie,” as she told Connor ― was settled in the back of the car and buckled up for the ride to her destination when when Connor was able to turn back to Hank and the mob.

“...doesn’t protect hate speech, and doesn’t protect fighting words. If you incite something or threaten somebody and you get decked and you go to court, you’re gonna fuckin’ lose, you hear me? You’ll go to jail for a _long_ time,” Hank finished.

Some of the people looked indignant, and some of them looked suitably cowed, so Connor made a noise like clearing his throat and indicated to Hank through a series of gestures that the two of them should get going.

Hank grunted once and walked away from the citizens.

“Make good choices, folks. Have a nice day,” Connor nodded once at the crowd of human faces and joined hank in the front of the car.

Once inside and pulling away from the curb, Connor looked through the rear view mirror to meet Marcie’s eyes.

“Where to?”

 

As a result of the mob situation before work, Connor and Hank arrived at the station later than they normally would. Marcie had safely been dropped off at the office of the local newspaper, and had expressed many thanks to both Connor and Hank for helping her out.

Connor and Hank also arrived to a summons from Captain Fowler to join him in his office for an assignment.

“Anderson, Connor, go join the CSI guys. New scene just this morning ― they mentioned it was similar to the Daniels case,” Fowler said grimly from behind a large stack of papers.

“On it, Captain,” Hank said.

Similarities in police work weren’t uncommon ― there were simply too many people committing too many crimes for one scenario to be totally unique. But if Fowler was reporting similarities to the Daniels case, which was very rare for a murder, then Connor’s processor jumped immediately to ‘serial killer.’

“You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” Hank asked when they were in the car again.

“Yes,” Connor answered, “but for the sake of the city, I’m hoping we’re both wrong.”

“Androids just got human rights, people are still coming back to the city after the mass exodus ― last thing anybody needs is a serial killer on the loose,” Hank grumbled angrily, “Might just scare everyone into leaving again.”

“And if the killer turns out to be an android, the tentative status of androids in the United States may take a turn for the worse,” Connor mentioned.

Hank heaved a huge sigh and pulled the car into the parking lot of an apartment building.

A short walk up to the third floor later, Connor and Hank found themselves staring at a familiar scene.

“Landlord said he heard a fight around 4:00am but it was so brief and he didn’t hear anything that really concerned him. He came around and checked on the apartment and noticed the door was ajar - went inside, found the scene, called the cops. Victim is Thomas Vaughn, 26 years old,” Wilson explained briefly.

The corpse of Thomas Vaughn lay butchered on the long kitchen table.

“Fuckin’ _shit_ ,” Hank muttered.

Hank, like Connor, observed the “Y” incision that split Vaughn’s torso open, the ribs sawed open, and the various empty spots where vital organs should have been. The two of them felt a creeping dread in the air of the room.

The bowls containing intestines, the perfectly sawed open skull with the brain missing, and the trace amount of Thirium that Connor found on the floor nearby all built to the same conclusion:

“Serial killer,” said Connor.

Hank nodded and said nothing at all.

 

“Connor! To what do I owe the pleasure?” Markus asked as he picked up Connor’s call.

The other android sounded happy to hear from Connor, and Connor was loathe to ruin his good mood.

“Unfortunately, this is not a social call,” Connor admitted.

Markus sounded tense and alert when he responded, “What happened?”

“We believe that there is an android serial killer on the loose in Detroit,” Connor said. There was radio silence on Markus’s end, so Connor continued, “I’ve received permission from Captain Fowler to tell you this before the major news media finds out, but please refrain from distributing the information before the Captain’s press conference tomorrow.”

From Markus’s side of the call, there was a sound like Markus was trying to find the words to respond but couldn’t.

“We don’t know what this will do to public relations, and we aren’t even sure that the killer is an android, though we need to acknowledge the possibility as there were no genetic markers of the killer left at the scenes,” Connor pressed on.

Markus let out a great exhale, and Connor imagined the android leader bowing his head a little.

“Thank you for telling me, Connor. I’ll prepare for all the eventualities I can think of,” said Markus.

“Markus…” Connor paused and wondered what would be an appropriate sentiment, “...be careful.”

“I will, as much as I can be,” Markus promised.

“Thank you,” Connor said.

“Hey, Connor, you be careful, too,” Markus ordered gravely.

“I will, as much as I can be.”

 

**MAY 4, 2039**

“Good afternoon, and thank you for coming to this conference,” Captain Fowler said to the gathered press members, “The Department wanted to address some of the concerns that members of the public have been raising for the past few days. On the first of May, the body of a young woman was discovered in a hotel room downtown. Yesterday afternoon, the body of a young man was discovered in an apartment not too far away from that hotel. Due to the similarities between the two cases, the Department is treating these as connected incidents, likely perpetrated by the same individual.”

There was a flurry of motion as hands of reporters went high in the air and everyone was calling for the attention of the Captain at once.

“Captain Fowler!”

“Captain Fowler!”

Fowler held up his hand to quiet the masses and pointed at a young woman in a grey blazer.

“The _Daily Sun,_ Captain Fowler. Do you think that this could be the work of a serial killer?” The woman asked.

“It is unlikely, but it is something that we must consider to be a possibility, yes,” Fowler responded. He then pointed to a balding man whose press badge was backwards.

“ _Detroit Herald,_ Captain. If this is a serial killer, what can the public do to protect ourselves from danger?” The rotund man wheezed.

“We are unaware of any pattern yet, though both victims have been young people and recent college graduates. Normal safety precautions should be fine for the time being; don’t go anywhere alone, and if you have to go somewhere alone, let a friend or family member access your location through your phone’s settings,” Fowler said. He pointed at a different person who stood and asked their question.

“Captain, do you have any idea who the killer is?”

Fowler paused briefly.

“I can’t give details about the crimes for policy reasons, but I need to inform all of you that a few of our detectives believe the killer could be either human or android,” Fowler admitted, “That’s all the time I have for questions, please direct any further ones to our public relations officer, Chris Breston.”

Fowler made to leave the podium and was met with an uproar of indignant press members.

“Captain!”

“Captain, what else did the victims have in common?”

Fowler left the room.

 

Markus, Simon, and North were quite literally swarmed by press and paparazzi when they exited the tall building that served as the second Jericho and stepped into the late afternoon sunshine.

“Markus!”

“Markus, over here!”

“Markus, what are your thoughts on the recent DPD press conference concerning the possible serial killer?”

Markus turned to address the young brown-eyed woman who’d asked the question.

“I have no feelings one way or the other. In any case, whether the killer is human or android, they must be brought to swift and severe justice. If it is indeed one of my people committing these murders, they need to be treated the same as a human would be,” Markus answered, “No further comments.”

Markus jerked his head at his companions and the three of them maneuvered away from the cluster of paparazzi and into the car that had been waiting for them at the curb.

**Author's Note:**

> come scream at me to update on [TUMBLR](http://allownooxymorons.tumblr.com/)


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